


She Is Not A Mistake

by remy71923



Series: Modern Love [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: Natasha thought one mistake would forever cause a rift between her and Steve. It turns out, there were no mistakes that were made.Inspired by Tiny Love Stories: 'She Is Not A Mistake' from the Modern Love Section of New York Times. Also includes inspiration from Grey's Anatomy.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: Modern Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533998
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	She Is Not A Mistake

It had been an incredibly difficult year.

For one, Natasha had thought she lost in love. She and Steve were incredible together, or so she thought. They had been together for three years, met like how couples in cliche romantic movies did: in a bar where they happened to sit beside each other, beautiful alone strangers, on a lonely evening where neither of them expected that a lone night in a bar will change their lives forever. They hit it off right away, went home to Steve’s apartment, had breakfast the following morning and started going out and getting to know more about each other. They moved in together, thought of a life and future together all while balancing their need to prosper in their respective careers, with Natasha being a news journalist, and Steve being a surgeon.

It was almost perfect, _ too _ perfect, like those in the movies, like those in fairytales.

But Natasha wished she never believed in the movies, nor the fairytales. She wished she had never allowed herself to hope that a story like theirs had a happy ending.

She was happy for him, of course, when he found out he received a grant to be one of the doctors to help treat children in Lilongwe in Malawi. The grant will last for three years, he said, and he asked if she could move in with him, maybe find some work in the country while he finished the grant. She supposed the grant made him excited because it allowed him to do something he was really passionate about: helping those who most needed him, helping those who couldn’t afford access to better healthcare, and she loved him for it, adored him for it. So she initially said yes, albeit hesitant at first, but she didn’t want to show him that.

She didn’t want to tell him how it might affect _ her _ growing and blossoming career, how it might affect the work and name she started to build for herself by working in her dream publishing company. She was too blind, too afraid that she was given a choice: herself or the man she loved. She _ hated _ that there was even a choice. But she figured, and she _ hoped _ that maybe there was no choice in the first place.

Of course, she hoped wrong.

She finally gathered up the courage to tell him this one evening while they were having dinner. She cooked for him, one of his favorite meals, because he asked her so. He asked her to cook for him his favorite meals because they only had two days before they would be flying to Africa. She told him how she wanted to stay, stay because her career is prospering here too, and it’s where she’s always wanted to work, where she’s always wanted to be.

She told him she could wait, wait for him and for the meantime, they can prosper in their own individual careers, and wait for each other, love each other from afar. She told him they can arrange something, anything, that can allow them communication so they would be able to tell each other, still, about their day, and how much they miss each other, and love each other.

But contrary to how she imagined it to be, he was having none of it.

“You said you wanted a future together,” he pointed out quietly, almost confusedly. “We had it all planned out.”

“I know,” she responded. “I know, I know, Steve, and I know how much this really means to you—”

“That’s the thing, _ you _ know how much it means to me,” he shot back, his voice raising slightly. “You know how much this job means a lot to me, how important it is to my career.”

“But my career is important too!” she said, her chest aching at how much she was starting to lose patience. “My career is just as important as yours, my _ life _ is as important as yours.”

“We figured it out! You were going to have a job, a good one in Malawi, where you could—”

“You were the one who looked for that job for me! Have you ever even thought about how I wanted it or not?” she asked, and they were practically screaming at each other.

“You wanted a future together, it’s all you said—”

“No, that wasn’t all I said!” she exclaimed. “I wanted _ you, _ I wanted you to be happy, but that didn’t mean that I don't want _ myself _ to be happy.”

And then it started escalating, about how she didn’t tell him what she wanted, but she argued that she did. Over the last few months, she kept on dropping him hints about how much her job in Times meant a lot to her, how she’s always wanted this for herself since she was a kid, and how she was finally harvesting the fruits of her hard labor. But all he ever responded was how excited _ he _ was about the grant, about the opportunity to help other people who were most in need, and about how she can find her own fulfillment in Malawi too.

He never listened, but in hindsight, it was probably because she never said enough.

He left that evening, never finished his dinner, after telling him maybe they’d be better off without each other. Perhaps they’d be better off not together. She never knew where he went, not after she agreed, but the next thing she knew, when she woke up, he was gone. All his clothes were gone, all his things, his medical notebooks, stethoscope, special pens, coat, all of it were gone, as if the traces of him inside their shared apartment was gone. She thought and asked if he ever stopped by to kiss her goodbye when he left for his things.

She turned and found a note on the bedside table, saying that he had left for Malawi, and that was it. That was all in the note, not even a goodbye, or an ‘I love you’ on it. There was no indication of their love, their relationship in the note, and she figured maybe that was it. That was the end.

Heartbroken as she was, after she came in to work, and ended for the day, she went to the same bar where she met him. And there he found herself in the same circumstances as how she met him: beside a beautiful stranger. But unlike how she and Steve met, she was looking for something, something, or _ someone _ to fill the void he left her with, anything that can ease the pain and immense loneliness she felt that night.

She went home with a stranger, didn’t even know his name, didn’t even remember what he looked like, except for maybe he was good-looking and pretty handsome too, and he was _ very _ good in bed. They spent the night in each other’s arms, on her bed she once shared with Steve, moaning and panting with each thrust of pleasure searing through her body, her nails clawing against the back of this stranger as he kissed her, moaned for her to come for him as he thrust so gently yet so passionately inside of her, and she moaned loudly as she fell apart in the stranger’s arms.

She thought she would wake up feeling better after that night, but the morning came in, and she was alone, and the void felt bigger and even worse inside her heart.

She never did go back to the bar, never spent nights with a stranger because she felt like the night she did was a mistake. She instead tried to focus her energies in moving on and moving forward. She remodeled her apartment, what once was theirs, now turned into hers, and made sure to get rid from her sight of all the things that reminded her of Steve. She put in a box every photo they had with each other, every letter he sent her, every poem and drawing he ever gave her. She focused instead on prospering herself, her career, making a better name for herself as she continued to move forward through the ranks of Times. Days turned into weeks, and the weeks grew and stretched longer than she thought, yet she never did feel better.

Literally. She felt worse.

On the second month of Steve’s departure, and her ultimate breakup with Steve, she found out that the universe _ was _ indeed screwing with her in every way possible. She found out she was pregnant.

And it’s not like she knew who the father was. For all she knew, he was just a visitor, a foreigner who happened to be in town the evening where was looking for some action. She went back that evening in the bar and tried looking for him, but he wasn’t there. And she figured, what would she say if he ever showed up? What would she do? Get a life and move forward with this stranger who happened to got her pregnant after a one-night stand, hope for the best and maybe, just maybe, he would end up to be the love of her life?

_ No, _ she said, and she left the bar.

When she thought the universe was done screwing with her, she thought wrong. She thought _ very _ wrong. Because on the third month of her pregnancy, just when she came back from her appointment in the OB, she heard a knock on her door, and there he was.

Steve.

“Picture this,” he said, as a form of screwed-up greeting she ever heard. “I was in Africa, doing the work that I loved, doing the work that I always thought would make me feel fulfilled and accomplished and would complete my career as a surgeon. And I thought I was making it, making it in life, making history as a surgeon, to be one of those sent in far-away places to help the children out. But I was crying.” And his eyes started filling with tears. “I cried, constantly, heartbroken and sad, at every opportunity, at every free time I can get, and when one of the women doctors asked me what was wrong, I told her I left my girlfriend in America, and I miss her. I miss her, and I broke her heart, and I never even got to say goodbye.”

Natasha just stared at him blankly, unbelievingly, as he continued. “And then she asked me if I wanted to come back, and all I wanted, all I thought I could say was ‘no’, but what came out instead was ‘yes’. Yes, I wanted to go back,” And then he gave her a small and sad smile. “And so I did. I did, and then I came back, and here I am.”

Right. The universe was screwing with her.

Natasha stared at him for a long while, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do, not wanting any form of company or _ anybody, _especially him with her right then. She felt the scan of her baby in the pocket of her coat weighing heavily beside her, and she took a deep breath and shook her head.

And she closed the door on him.

But she knew him better than a man who gave up so easily. He sent her text messages, left her calls, left her voice mails. She happened to listen to one, where he begged for her to call him back, and that he was sorry, that he was going to make it up to her, but he’s stuck in doctor duties. She never responded, never listened to any of the voicemails he left for her, because she spent the evening crying when she listened to _ that _ particular one, feeling her heart break over and over again as she refused to let him back, refused to let him in, certain that if she ever did, he would just come back in and hurt her, especially when he’d find out she was having a baby.

A baby that’s not his.

But on one afternoon, when she walked out of her office in Times, there he was. He stood up from the visitors’ couch in the hall waiting for her on the floor she worked in, and he gave her a small and tentative smile. She sighed, and proceeded to walk towards the open elevator, and he managed to run inside before it closed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and watched as the elevator door closed.

“Hey,” he said, catching his breath. She clenched her jaw, clutching to her bag tightly. “Y-you never answered my calls, not even my texts.” She took a deep breath. “But it’s fine. I-I understand. I just...I just want you to hear me out. Hear me out, alright? I know you already heard a lot when I first came in, but I-I need you to hear me again.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she was listening. She was listening, and Steve saw that too. “I know I bailed. I bailed on us, any future traces of us, and I left. I left without saying a word, without saying goodbye. I left when it was convenient, and it was selfish. _ I _ was selfish.” She turned to look at him, and his eyes showed despair, his blue eyes filling with tears as she felt her own heart clench. “And it was a lot of things. I wanted to be good, I wanted to prosper, and I dragged you in it, never even stopped to think about you, think _ of _ you. So here I am, here I am, coming back, asking for your forgiveness, giving up everything. I gave up the grant, I gave it to someone else, arranged for somebody else to take it. Because when I was there, I’ve already learned a lot of things. I learned that I didn’t need that to be happy. I didn’t need a grant to be happy. I _ did _ know that I need you. I need you, Nat.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “All I’m asking for is forgiveness,” he pleaded. “Forgiveness, and a second chance. I’ll make it up to you. W-we’ll build a life together, a life we’ve always said we wanted with each other. We’ll build it, because I’m in love with you, and I know you’re in love with me.”

Natasha shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to give anything up,” she told him quietly. “I never asked you to. I…” She took a deep breath and faced him. “You want a second chance?” He nods, a spark of hope evident in his eyes, it almost broke her heart when she saw it. But she needed to say it, needed for him to know so he can still extinguish the amount of hope flaring in his heart. “I’m pregnant. After you left, I had a one-night stand with a stranger whom I never saw after, and now I’m pregnant.” His eyes widened, his mouth slightly open in surprise.

The elevator door opened to the main lobby, where she was about to leave to. “Now, do you still want that chance?” she asked, her voice breaking, as she turned to leave. He never followed her out, and she felt tears tears flowing down her eyes as she realized so.

She never heard from him that night, and the night that followed. But three nights later, he showed up at her doorstep bringing her dinner. “I became a bit out of my depth here, since I only ever treat kids, never their mothers,” he said softly, almost sheepishly. “But I brought some homemade beef stew and some salmon salad sandwich. I brought Greek yogurt too, because it should be good for you and the baby.”

And she almost cried, because she didn’t know what she could have for dinner that evening, and was running out of options before she ordered McDonald’s. “Can I come in?” he asked. She stepped aside, and he entered the apartment.

_ Her _ apartment, what was once was theirs.

She ate, while he talked quietly about his day, when she asked him about it. She asked him about where he was staying, to which he answered that he was staying in a nearby hotel, a few blocks from the apartment building. He proceeded to tell her about his day at the hospital, and the things she should avoid eating for meals now that she’s pregnant. It wasn’t like she didn’t know it, she researched about it, was advised by her doctor about it, but she liked hearing it from him anyway. She liked hearing it from another excellent doctor. She liked hearing it from Steve.

He volunteered to massage her legs and feet when he asked her how she felt after dinner, when she told him her legs hurt and so did her feet. He took care of the dishes, and she waited for him by the living room couch. He massaged her feet silently, and she told him about her day, as minimally as she can, when he asked her about her day. He listened quietly, his fingers and hands pressing against her legs and feet, to the spots where it hurt, and she sighed in relief.

And then she asked him what he was doing, and he told her he was massaging her feet. “No, why are you here?” she asked. “Why did you bring me food? Why are you here massaging my feet?”

“Because I wanted another chance,” he answered. “You asked me if I still wanted that chance. Here I am. Here I am, and I’m saying yes to that chance.”

“You’re not even mad?” she asked. “You’re not even pissed, angry about this?”

“Of course I am,” he said. And he said it almost too calmly she was tempted to not believe him. “I am mad that you slept with someone else. And I know that we were broken up, but still, you slept with someone else.” He looked up at her. “But I forgive you.”

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”

“I know,” he answered. “But I’m giving it to you anyway.”

And they proceed with that routine almost every night after work. He would call in sometimes, telling her that he wouldn’t make it because he was on-call, but he would still ask someone to deliver her some food. They would talk too, as minimally as they could, about their days. She showed him a bunch of her scans too, from the first one she had on her second month of pregnancy, up until her sixth.

And on her seventh month of pregnancy, she told him, “You should stop doing this. We’re not together. You’re not tied down to me. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

But that apparently flared him up, and the anger and frustration he had probably been holding in was released on her, “You don’t get to say that,” he said firmly. “You don’t get to tell me we’re not together. We _ are _ together, because I love you, and you love me, and none of the rest matters. We _ are _ together. Don’t you see? This is the chance. This is the chance, and I’m taking it, and I know you want it. And you don’t get to tell me you don’t, because I knock on your door, and you had every opportunity to close it again on my face but you didn’t. You didn’t, because I can see the love in your eyes, the love that was barely there, but _ is _ still there.”

And it’s not like what he was telling her was untrue. All of it was the truth. She loved him, never stopped, even when he walked out on her. She never shut the door on him because she wanted him there, wanted to feel that love they used to have before he left, and before she committed the mistake that led them here. She supposed that was what turned her. She never saw what he was doing as the chance he was trying to fulfill, the time he was trying to make up for. She had nothing to think about what he was doing, so busy cooped up with conditioning herself to being a single mother to her child, conditioning herself to moving on and moving forward because she thought he would never love her the same way anymore.

She stayed silent, and it prompted him to leave, muttering a good night, and that she’ll see him the next day.

She found out she was having a girl. And she knew he was off-duty the following day, and she wanted so bad to call him because she was on her way to her doctor for her monthly check-up, and she’d finally know the gender of her baby, and she wanted him to be there with her, to hold her hand, and tell her that everything was going to be okay. She got the scans from her doctor, and she stared at it tearily, unable to keep her eyes off of the scans, the photos of her baby girl—her daughter.

She was going to be a mother.

She showed up on the doorstep of his hotel room, her eyes moist and her cheeks damp with tears. He opened the door when she knocked, and he was surprised to find her there.

“It’s a girl,” she told him softly. “I’m having a baby girl.”

His smile grew slowly, but it was wide, and beautiful it almost clenched her heart. “We’re having a baby girl?” he whispered, and she smiled, and nodded, as tears started to flow.

“We are,” she said softly. “We’re having a baby girl.”

And he laughed softly, as tears slowly filled his eyes, and she started crying. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry.”

But he embraced her, took her back inside his room, and just held her in his arms, as she sobbed that she was sorry, sorry for pushing him away, for forgetting about him, for making a mistake.

“I forgive you,” he told her softly, as he brushed her hair gently, pressing a kiss on her hair. “Of course I forgive you. And she is not a mistake. She is not a mistake.”

And he told her that on the day her daughter was born. She named her Alex, short for Alexandra, and she looked exactly like her—her hair scarlet red, her eyes jade and her nose and cheekbones the same as her mother. As she looked up at her boyfriend, the love of her life, holding the seven-pound-and-six-ounces bunch of newness in his arms, her eyes filled with tears as she whispered another apology, asking if he can ever forgive her.

But he looked at him, his eyes filled with love, for her and her daughter, and he smiled. “Of course I forgive you,” he repeated softly. “She is not a mistake. She’s our daughter.”

They named her Alexandra Romanoff Rogers, and she lived as their daughter. Natasha loved her with all her heart, poured everything out to her precious little girl, while Steve loved her like she was his own. And she was his own, he said. His heart belonged to their little Alex, just like how his heart belonged to her, and to all their future children.

She watches from inside their home, nursing their little Sarah in her rocking chair by the living room window, a wide grin on her face seeing Steve run around the front yard chasing around a giggling three-year-old Alex. The little girl laughs loudly when he catches her and lifts her, twirling her and cuddling her closer to him. She watches fondly as Steve puts their little girl down and kneels down eye-level in front of her, murmuring something, and making the girl giggle and nod as she murmurs something back. Natasha wonders what they’re talking about.

Alex extends her arms as Steve picks her up again and rests her on his hip, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as they walk up toward the front door. She looks up to smile at them, and Steve puts a wiggling Alex down as she runs over towards her mother and sister.

“Had a good play with Daddy today?” Natasha asks softly, when her eldest daughter perches herself on the stool beside the rocking chair, so she can lean over and grin as she looks at her younger sister.

“Yeah,” Alex answers, and Steve lifts Alex so she can sit on her lap as he takes her place on the stool beside Natasha. He leans over to give his wife a soft kiss on the lips and a smile. “Can I play with Sarah too?”

“Later, princess, maybe when she wakes up.” Steve answers softly, pressing a gentle kiss on the girl’s scarlet red hair that mirrors her mother’s. Alex nods and wraps her arms around Steve’s neck, and Natasha’s smile widens.

The year their little Alexandra was born had been difficult. Mistakes were made, separations occurred, but Natasha mused that there was one good thing out of it all. Their daughter, their little Alexandra, was not a mistake. She is their daughter, and they love her, and most especially, Steve loves her. She is not a mistake, he said. She is their daughter.


End file.
